TL;DR
Climate hypocrisy is mostly a category error. The people who feel the contradiction most acutely are often the ones with real leverage. The trick isn’t purity. It’s learning what your discomfort is pointing at. What if dissonance isn’t the enemy but instead is a signal?
Meet Sarah, a hardworking sustainability officer at a local council. She drives an SUV to work and spends her days arguing for public transport.
If you want the easy story, you can call her a hypocrite. She should bike to work or ditch the gas-guzzler for an EV. If you want the useful story, you notice that she is working inside the machine that decides what “choice” even means. And Sarah is good at her job. Her work has influenced transit policy, affecting hundreds of thousands of commuters and saving a heap of emissions.
Her personal choices appear imperfect. She feels guilty and knows she’s not exactly the good environmentalist who bikes everywhere and grows their food. But her job allows her to work hard and make a real difference.
If, like Sarah, you feel environmental contradictions sharply, you might be the one with agency. Your discomfort is sophisticated systems thinking.
Perhaps we should not be so hasty with accusations.
What if we reframed environmental engagement entirely? Instead of asking Are you doing enough? We might ask, Are you learning from your contradictions? Instead of measuring carbon footprints, we could track leverage footprints. A carbon footprint measures personal output. A leverage footprint measures how many other footprints your decisions can bend.
Perfection is the trap. The moment you make being a good environmentalist the goal, you create an incentive to anesthetise the discomfort through denial, by distraction, or by moral theatre.
We all feel psychological discomfort when we are inconsistent. And we all want to make that discomfort go away. Often, we will do whatever it takes.
It’s time to take a hard look at our dissonance.
I live in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. It is a World Heritage Site of outstanding beauty, and I am eternally grateful to live here. But I know I am messing with it. My house cuts into the bush, as do the roads to my suburb. Weeds escape from my garden where my lawn requires endless inputs of fuel, fertiliser and water. My SUV burns through an infinite supply of diesel, and we need the log fire in the winter.
Modern Western living is as far away from sustainable as it gets. And it is hard to ignore.
And yet I do it, you do too, even Mother Teresa did it. All humans live with some amount of disconnect between what we believe and what we do. We can not live up to our values all the time, and we know we can’t. That coping reflex is cognitive dissonance.
Leon Festinger gave it a name in the 1950s. We’ve been practising it since we first learned to justify ourselves. We want to stay true, but when inevitable inconsistencies arise, such as advocating for health while smoking, maintaining a lawn in the bush, and driving to your public transport advocacy job, this creates psychological tension. Sometimes it’s a twinge, sometimes it’s a migraine.
Everyone does this. The only variable is how honest they are about it. Some people sit with it. Others sprint for an excuse or a story with a more comfortable ending.
I am pretty tolerant, but if I am honest, a reframe is usually involved.
In a culture obsessed with moral consistency, dissonance becomes a daily itch. This is the Western democratic model, where self-determination is prized as much as doing the right thing. In more collectivist or pluralistic cultures, conflicting roles and beliefs may be more normatively accepted, reducing internal conflict. Well, it’s not my fault anyway; we are all forced to do it.
But here is the thing.
Dissonance is not pathology. It is a signal that your self-story has collided with your day-to-day life. You can use it to change or to anaesthetise. However, when left unresolved or habitually suppressed, dissonance can lead to defensiveness, rationalisation, and even more profound disengagement. This is especially true if the culture rewards such behaviour. It is possible, even easy, to resolve dissonance with denial.
I believe in environmental responsibility. I don’t want to see natural habitats destroyed, old trees felled, or even doughy-eyed mammals suffer. I’m especially concerned about the impact of intensive agriculture on soil. However, as we saw, I live like a king, drive a large SUV that often pulls a caravan, and eat steak. I survive the tension with the justification of it is what it is, a type of compartmentalisation or by telling myself it’s for my wife, as though somehow compromising a value or two is showing my love for her.
What I don’t do, at least in my head, is resolve the conflict by justifying it. When I’m filling the recycling bin, I don’t say, “I recycle, so I’ve done my bit”, and I accept evidence for my environmental impact. I make a point of not shifting responsibility to others or external systems. Well, maybe a bit of the latter.
I acknowledge personal agency, particularly in situations where admitting complicity would cause moral distress or require a significant lifestyle change. I bring on the dissonance, then spend an unhealthy amount of my retirement writing about how to be better citizens for the environment.
I think I manage my dissonance effectively. I am aware of my hypocrisy, accept it and placate myself with gratitude for my good fortune.
But not everyone rationalises this way. Cognitive dissonance can lead to denial, resulting in severe emotional discomfort that we must soothe.
One way is through dissociation, a much cleaner trick. You accept the facts and detach from their claims on you. From the outside, it can look like compliance. Inside it is withdrawal. I acknowledge the facts but feel no urgency, ownership, or emotional engagement with them. This psychological distancing is very useful when it protects my psyche from guilt or anxiety.
However, it also removes the impetus for personal accountability and change, with severe behavioural consequences.
I know I should act responsibly, but I resent the effort, the cost, and the implications, and I’m damn well going to let you know how I feel. I am going to procrastinate, be sarcastic, throw around backhanded compliments, and you are not getting any help from me. These passive-aggressive behaviours allow me to symbolically push back without directly acknowledging or addressing the underlying issue.
Dissociation compounds this cognitive dissonance by creating emotional distance between me and my sense of responsibility. I am going to switch off from my actions or consequences. Now I don’t need to defend against your accusations of hypocrisy; I’ll just offer half-hearted compliance, avoid meaningful conversations, and be deliberately inefficient. And the best bit is I feel good about it, no moral discomfort for me.
Socially, dissociation can create confusing dynamics. I will agree with all your suggestions for my environmental or ethical commitments, but will fail to follow through, deflecting blame or minimising their role when questioned. My passive-aggressive responses will let me maintain a socially acceptable image while expressing unresolved ambivalence or resentment.
All this explains why a demand for accountability will fail miserably. Psychological defences are real and powerful, especially against any hint of judgement. Leave my caravan out of this.
Accountability does nothing to address the fear, shame, or confusion that caused the dissonance in the first place.
I could double down.
I don’t buy golf clubs because I need golf clubs. I buy them because they’re a quick way to feel like I’m still in control even as I experience internal discomfort. Rather than confronting or adjusting to this conflict, I can come up with some self-justification. “I’ve earned it, and everyone else does it, so why not? And, anyway, I donate to charity, so it balances out”. This allows my dissonant identity to persist without requiring behavioural change.
Dissociation makes this easier by weakening emotional connections to the consequences of consumption. When wealth insulates me from the waste, labour exploitation, and ecological degradation caused by consumerism, it becomes easier to disengage. It stops being about need and starts being about mood. Shopping, travel, and acquisition function as coping strategies, offering momentary gratification or control in place of moral reckoning. In some cases, excessive consumption masks a void where meaning, connection, or responsibility might otherwise reside.
Yes, we all have this to some degree.
However, this dynamic is real and especially potent in affluent societies or in individuals embedded in cultures that equate success with accumulation. Here, cognitive dissonance is not merely individual but socially normalised, fuelled by advertising, peer comparison, and economic structures that reward consumption.
Wealth enables these defences to be enacted at scale. It even demands them. With more resources, people can consume more, outsource inconvenient tasks, especially ethical decision-making, and remain removed from the consequences. Not only that, but the economy grows.
Breaking this cycle often requires more than awareness. I already know there is a problem because I feel uneasy. What has to happen is I must buy into alternative narratives of meaning, identity, and responsibility that don’t rely on consumption as their core.
I have laboured the point of dissonance and dissociation on purpose. Together, cognitive dissonance and dissociation form a powerful psychological barrier to personal responsibility. Dissonance allows individuals to rationalise contradictions without changing their behaviour, while dissociation severs the emotional ties that might otherwise drive ethical action.
When reinforced by Western cultural norms of consumerism, techno-optimism, or political deferral of responsibility, these mechanisms contribute to widespread societal patterns of inaction, denial, and moral outsourcing.
We have ourselves a serious problem, both individual and collective.
If dissonance and dissociation persist, there is little hope for addressing environmental risks or mitigating excess. Get this wrong, and you trigger defence, not change.
So, let’s make this exploration practical by taking a closer look at climate change. This globally significant risk we know is both contentious and a major cause of emotional conflict, and begins with this premise…
Most people intellectually accept climate science while behaviorally continuing high-emissions lifestyles.
Belief isn’t the bottleneck.
Longitudinal studies from the Program on Climate Change Communication at Yale University suggest 70% of Americans believe climate change is occurring, with similar proportions observed across most developed nations, yet behaviour barely budges. That gap is the story. The system sets high-emissions living as the default, then acts surprised when people keep selecting it.
Despite decades of climate awareness, global CO2 emissions continue to rise, with per-capita emissions in wealthy nations remaining stubbornly high. Based on 2024 and 2025 data from the Global Carbon Project and the International Energy Agency (IEA), the average American still generates approximately 16 tons of CO2 annually, or roughly four times the estimated global per-capita sustainable level of 2–4 tons per year required to meet the Paris Agreement’s 1.5°C target.
Almost everywhere, the gap persists between climate concern and carbon-intensive behaviour. And this gap gets bigger when we examine the behaviours of climate-concerned individuals.
People who express strong environmental concerns often maintain high-carbon lifestyles through air travel, large homes, and consumption patterns. Even environmental professionals whose careers centre on sustainability frequently engage in high-emission behaviours, particularly flying for conferences and maintaining energy-intensive lifestyles, as Sarah does with her SUV.
I wrote a post on my blog back in 2021 lamenting how the British Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, had to jet down from Glasgow to London to attend a dinner at The Garrick Club in the West End for a reunion of Daily Telegraph journalists. The next day, he was back in Glasgow as host to the 26th Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change. There is a picture of him sitting at the climate conference between Sir David Attenborough and António Manuel de Oliveira Guterres, the Secretary-General of the United Nations, the morning after his sojourn to London. Naturally, he was having a nap.
A few days before sleeping off his dissonance, then-Chancellor of the Exchequer Rishi Sunak announced a 50% cut to Air Passenger Duty for domestic flights within the UK. The government stated this was intended to support regional airports and improve “connectivity” between the four nations of the UK. But incentivising air travel over rail was inconsistent with the government’s “Net Zero” environmental goals.
This pattern of dissonance, extreme in the example of Boris, a public figure who should know better, mirrors what economists call the intention-action gap across many domains. We see similar disconnects between stated values and actual behaviour in health, finance, and social issues. In finance, for example, individuals plan to save or budget responsibly yet frequently overspend.
The climate version feels particularly acute because climate change is a classic example of what psychologists term a psychologically distant problem. Its impacts are often perceived as occurring in the future (temporal distance), happening elsewhere (spatial distance), affecting others more than oneself (social distance), and involving abstract or complex systems (uncertainty). Climate is the perfect psychological sabotage. It is distant, abstract, slow, and probabilistic. Our threat systems don’t grip it the way they grip lions, snakes, and a bloke in your driveway.
Humans are wired to prioritise immediate, visible threats over slow-moving or indirect dangers. The good news is that for most of the species’ existence, brains had to deal with threats from lions, snakes, bad weather and neighbours. This mismatch between our cognitive architecture and the nature of climate change helps explain the inertia in even the most climate-aware individuals. Dissonance is what we use to mop up the inevitable discomfort.
We should expect a failure to act in accordance with deeply held ethical or moral values. It is one of the most documented psychological phenomena in environmental research, and it leads to obvious psychological distress, hence the following premise…
The cognitive dissonance over climate produces psychological distress and defensive avoidance behaviours.
The psychological literature on climate-related distress has expanded in recent years, and the evidence is compelling. Susan Clayton’s seminal work on “eco-anxiety” documents measurable psychological impacts from climate awareness, including depression, anxiety, and feelings of helplessness. The most extensive study ever conducted on climate anxiety in children and young people, led by Caroline Hickman and Susan Clayton, shows this distress is particularly acute among young people, with 75% of surveyed youth reporting feeling “frightened” about the future due to climate change.
In Living in Denial (2011), Kari Marie Norgaard documents how Norwegian communities strategically avoid climate conversations to bypass the guilt and dissonance associated with their high-carbon lifestyles. People literally restructure their social interactions to avoid confronting the gap between values and behaviour. No exploration of anything deep and meaningful in the sauna.
Although we know that climate awareness can cause significant psychological strain, individuals have potent methods of emotional self-protection that often impede meaningful engagement or action. Even as people acknowledge the facts, they succumb to feelings of fear, guilt, and helplessness in a world that asks them to live with profound contradictions. If you’re designing comms, ignore this, and you’ll get backlash.
Want the hard evidence? Put it in a scanner.
Research by Troy Campbell and Aaron Kay identified a psychological phenomenon known as solution aversion, which explains why climate information often meets intense resistance. When the scientific evidence for a problem (such as climate change) implies a solution that contradicts an individual’s core values or political identity (such as increased government regulation), the brain perceives the information itself as a threat. Neuroscientific evidence, such as that from Jonas Kaplan, suggests that when these deeply held beliefs are challenged, the brain’s “executive” centres are bypassed in favour of the amygdala and the insular cortex. These areas treat the ideological contradiction as a personal attack, effectively lighting up to defend the individual’s sense of self rather than objectively processing the data.
While the brain is wired for immediate survival, Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert highlights that climate change often fails to trigger the fast threat-detection system because it lacks the PAIN criteria: it is rarely Personal, Abrupt, Immoral, or occurring Now. Because the threat feels distant or abstract, the brain does not always initiate a traditional fight-or-flight response. Instead, the brain utilises emotional numbing as a defence mechanism. It downregulates its emotional output to avoid chronic stress, leading to a state of apathy or cognitive dissonance where the individual acknowledges the fact but remains emotionally detached from the urgency.
The brain responds to the evidence for climate impacts through complex, socially reinforced forms of emotion management that enable people to function while suppressing their internal conflict. When the threat feels existential, the brain prioritises defence over data. It explains why avoidance can take subtle forms, such as prioritising technical solutions over systemic change or focusing on small personal actions to distract from larger political or structural responsibilities.
It is also why awareness alone rarely leads to action and why climate communication and policy must address emotional and social dynamics, not just informational gaps.
Blame is the laziest climate policy. Here’s the next move. Treat dissonance as both psychological and structural, only without the cheap moralising…
Understanding this dissonance requires examining both psychological and structural factors without moral judgment.
As we now know, individuals experience dissonance when their actions (high-consumption lifestyles) conflict with their values (concern for the planet). But this internal conflict doesn’t occur in a vacuum. Structural constraints, including urban design, economic pressures, social norms, political systems, corporate influence, and a host of other factors, shape the choices available to people.
Constraints make low-carbon living more difficult or socially costly. For example, someone may value climate action but live in a suburb with no public transit or be required to fly for work. Even the public transport Sarah encourages us to take uses a fleet of diesel buses that need time and money to replace.
If Sarah must live where she can afford to, in a suburb without public transport, the last thing she needs is moral judgment for driving to work. Moralising provokes defensiveness and resistance, reinforcing the very avoidance behaviours that prevent engagement. If dissonance makes people feel overwhelmed or powerless in the face of the climate crisis, then shaming them for their inconsistencies only deepens disengagement.
Reality doesn’t care about your virtue. People live where they can afford, commute how they must, and cope however keeps them functional.
Climate inaction is not a failure of morality, but a predictable outcome of intersecting psychological and societal systems. It was always going to happen.
Recognising that dissonance is a natural human response to complex problems creates some space for more empathetic, inclusive, and ultimately effective climate conversations.
Moral judgment only makes it worse.
Research on cultural cognition by Dan Kahan and the Cultural Cognition Project at Yale Law School shows that people process environmental information through cultural filters, meaning that moral judgments about environmental behaviour often reinforce rather than challenge existing patterns. When people feel judged for their lifestyle choices, they’re more likely to dismiss environmental information entirely, regardless of its scientific validity. When people perceive information as a threat to their cultural identity, for instance, associating climate concern with a liberal or elite worldview, they are more likely to dismiss it.
The sociological work of Riley Dunlap and Andrew Jorgenson emphasises that environmental degradation is deeply embedded in broader social, economic, and institutional structures. It’s part of our tribal identities. Collective consumption patterns, economic systems, and political arrangements shape environmental outcomes in ways that individual awareness or intent cannot easily override. Appealing to the individual will be hard without systemic change in what their tribe believes.
Starting in the 2000s, Thomas Dietz, along with colleagues like Paul Stern and Gerald Gardner, has published extensively on the short list of high-impact household actions and found that variables such as income level, household size, residential location, and access to public infrastructure were far more predictive of emissions than environmental attitudes. For example, wealthier households tend to consume more energy and travel more frequently, despite their stated concerns about climate change.
While values and knowledge matter, their expression is constrained by material realities. Recognising this helps avoid blaming individuals for actions shaped by infrastructures beyond their control.
And then there is the problem of scale.
If I don’t buy a caravan or the SUV needed to tow it, my sacrifice is meaningless in the grand scheme. It’s only when my neighbour, his neighbour and indeed a whole cohort of boomers choose to sit at home rather than travel the countryside that there will be a material impact on the climate problem.
My individual actions might not be enough.
Individual action alone proves insufficient when social norms and infrastructure constrain low-carbon choices.
Research by Seth Wynes and Kimberly Nicholas, notably in their 2017 paper on the climate mitigation gap, calculated that even if individuals adopt the highest-impact personal actions by living car-free, avoiding air travel, eating plant-based diets, and having smaller families, the collective impact would fall far short of necessary emission reductions. Personal actions are mathematically insufficient without accompanying structural changes.
Infrastructure constraints are a particular challenge.
Peter Newman and Jeff Kenworthy, who have spent decades mapping the relationship between urban density and fuel consumption, found that residents of car-dependent suburbs can reduce their transport emissions by only about 20% through behaviour change alone, while residents of transit-oriented developments automatically achieve 60-80% lower transport emissions simply by living there. It’s why Sarah has her job.
The built environment constrains choice more powerfully than individual motivation. Similarly, research on energy consumption shows that building efficiency standards and appliance regulations deliver far greater emission reductions than appeals to turn off lights and use air conditioning only on really hot days.
Social norms research adds another layer of constraint.
Robert Cialdini’s work demonstrates that people conform to perceived social norms even when those norms conflict with their personal values. In environmental contexts, this means that individual climate concerns are often overwhelmed by social pressures to maintain conventional, high-consumption lifestyles. Research by Michael Dornan found that even highly motivated individuals struggle to maintain low-carbon behaviours when their social networks normalise high-emission activities like frequent flying or large homes. Back to the tribe again.
Tell this to anyone already suffering from emotional tension, and you are likely to justify and reinforce their dissonance.
Perhaps we should try to be more pragmatic…
Effective responses must simultaneously address personal psychology, social norms, and systemic barriers.
Sarah puts on her game face to hide her psychological discomfort, has to cope with the expectations of her mother-in-law, and must wait for the light rail to reach Gumtree Grove.
She lives this triple bind every day.
Research is catching up with what Sarah already knows. Nobel laureate Elinor Ostrom’s research on polycentric governance proves that solving complex environmental crises requires more than top-down mandates; it demands aligned action across individual, community, and institutional levels. Her research demonstrates that successful environmental outcomes typically result from aligned individual incentives, community norms, and institutional frameworks. You need all three levels to align.
Similarly, community-based social marketing, developed by Doug McKenzie-Mohr, the founder of Community-Based Social Marketing (CBSM), shows that residential energy conservation programs that combine personal feedback, community challenges, and infrastructure improvements achieve 15-25% energy reductions, while programs targeting only one level typically achieve 3-8% reductions.
Research by Paul Stern and colleagues at the National Research Council in the 2000s found that interventions targeting only individual psychology typically produce small, temporary changes. At the same time, those addressing structural barriers alone often fail to generate initial adoption.
We could go on.
What about the blame game?
Compassionate approaches to climate dissonance enable more sustainable engagement than shame-based strategies.
Pointing out to Sarah that she might buy an EV and install solar panels on the roof of her house, because she’s the sustainability officer, for goodness’ sake, isn’t going to make her feel good or change her behaviour.
Climate communication and behavioural psychology research shows that when individuals are confronted with their inconsistencies, shame-based messaging can trigger defensive reactions, including denial, justification, or emotional withdrawal. These are classic responses to cognitive dissonance, particularly when identity or moral self-image is threatened.
Studies from scholars like Renée Lertzman, who coined the term environmental melancholia, have shown that compassionate, supportive strategies that validate the emotional complexity of climate engagement are more likely to lead to self-reflection, motivation, and behaviour change. This is because they reduce psychological threat. This is critical for individuals to confront uncomfortable truths without becoming paralysed or alienated. I probably should have thought more about this before launching this essay series.
Kristin Neff’s research found that people who practice self-compassion are more likely to acknowledge mistakes, learn from failures, and persist through difficulties. These are all crucial for environmental behaviour change. In contrast, self-critical approaches lead to defensive behaviours, avoidance, and eventual abandonment of environmental goals.
In practical terms, compassionate engagement acknowledges the structural constraints. It will admit that it is hard to be frugal with energy and emissions in high-carbon societies. There is a scarcity of sustainable alternatives, significant societal pressure, and economic constraints. Compassion can also foster empowerment, agency, and community support.
Compassion works because it lowers threat. People can look at ugly contradictions when they don’t feel cornered. Shame does the opposite because it makes the mind defend the identity, not revise the behaviour.
Neuroscience on shame supports the need for compassionate climate communication. Unlike guilt, which is the feeling that you did something bad, shame is the feeling that you are bad. Research by Brené Brown and neuroscientists like Dan Siegel suggests that shame triggers the amygdala’s threat-detection system, flooding the brain with cortisol and effectively “offlining” the prefrontal cortex. This physiological shutdown makes the cognitive processing required for learning and behavioural adaptation nearly impossible, often resulting in defensive withdrawal rather than constructive action.
When people feel ashamed of their environmental impact, their brains literally become less able to process new information or develop creative solutions. Compassionate approaches, by contrast, activate brain regions associated with learning, connection, and problem-solving.
The touchy-feely may be necessary.
The most liberating finding from exploring this premise sequence is that cognitive dissonance around climate action is a predictable human response to an unprecedented challenge. We were always going to do it.
When we understand that our stone-age brains struggle with abstract, long-term, probabilistic threats, the widespread gap between climate concern and behaviour becomes comprehensible rather than condemnable.
We are not wired for this kind of collective, faraway challenge.
The evidence consistently shows that where you live, how your city is designed, and what systems surround you matter more for your carbon footprint than how much you care about climate change. This insight shifts the conversation from individual guilt to collective responsibility for creating systems that make low-carbon living accessible and appealing. And if we continue with finger-wagging, neuroscience research tells us that feelings of shame literally impair our brain’s capacity for learning and adaptation.
And, of course, there are people delighted with this outcome. It should be no surprise to see some wagging fingers from those with an interest in drilling.
So here is the unsettling, plausible conclusion for the collective response to climate change.
Our obsession with individual carbon accounting may be the biggest obstacle to meaningful climate action. When we frame climate change as a collection of personal moral choices, we inadvertently strengthen the very systems that create the problem. And if you are a cynic like me, then you immediately suspect there are vested interests that like it this way.
Suppose we treat traffic safety the way we treat climate action. Instead of building safer roads, installing traffic lights, and regulating vehicle safety, we’d focus on teaching individuals to drive more carefully while expecting them to navigate blindfolded through anarchic intersections. We’d shame people for accidents while ignoring that the infrastructure makes crashes inevitable.
This analogy isn’t hyperbole.
It is precisely what we’ve done with climate policy. We’ve created fossil-fuel-dependent infrastructure for transport, buildings, and especially food production, then asked individuals to overcome that infrastructure through pure willpower and virtue. When they inevitably fail, we blame their moral character rather than questioning the systems and psychology that make failure inevitable.
And it’s also no surprise that when asking for individual effort doesn’t make things better, blame is shifted to the oil companies and any big business with a large carbon footprint. Making it someone else’s problem is classic dissonance.
Research on cognitive dissonance shows that the naming-and-shaming approach has transformed an engineering problem into an identity crisis. Instead of asking “How do we build systems that make low-carbon living convenient and affordable?” we ask “Why aren’t people willing to sacrifice enough?” The first question generates solutions; the second creates shame, defensiveness, and disengagement.
So here is the contrary proposition.
We should celebrate rather than condemn climate dissonance. Every person struggling to align their environmental values with their actual behaviour is demonstrating exactly why individual action alone cannot solve systemic problems. Their contradictions are symptoms of infrastructure designed for consumption. They are not moral failures.
And I challenge you to test this idea.
For one week, refuse to feel guilty about your environmental impact. Treat guilt as noise.
Instead, log every moment when the right choice is expensive, awkward, or socially punished. That is your map of constraint.
Then, pick one constraint you can actually shift this month. That is a leverage footprint.
The most profound takeaway from this closer look at a dissonance through the prism of climate concern is that it reveals something fundamental about the human condition. We’re all trying to live meaningful lives and cope with the emotional discomfort of our values conflicting with our actions. Only we are doing it within systems that weren’t designed for planetary sustainability.
The point isn’t to abolish dissonance. It’s to stop using it as a sedative.
If sustainable choices keep feeling personally hard, that’s data about the system you’re living in. It tells you about your transport, housing, food, and norms. Fixing that system is the real climate work. Everything else is mood management.
I'm not sure what a "sustainable choice" is but the fact (surely) is that modernity is not sustainable. So, no matter what choices we make, we will not move towards sustainability. I realised this a couple of years ago, so no longer feel guilty about my choices, though I now try to minimise my resource use - only because years of thinking about our predicament have altered my brain patterns to want to minimise my resource use. I am still disappointed that others don't try to do the same, though I know it doesn't really matter. Indeed, I could make a case for being less efficient with resources because that may help hasten the inevitable collapse (as modernity is unsustainable) and so perhaps start the recovery of nature at a higher level.
In my opinion, no-one should feel guilty about the choices they make (as least not on environmental grounds), since no-one would want to live without modernity (perhaps there are a few but it will be a fraction of a fraction of a percent). In terms of climate change, modernity requires emissions, so a so-called low carbon lifestyle still worsens the problem.